


A Dream of Warmth in Winter

by LilacsandFreedom



Series: Emet/WoL Week 2020 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dreams, Dreamwalking, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Lost Love, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Voyeurism, light voyeurism anyway, several things implied but nothing explicit, sort of comes with the dreamwalking territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacsandFreedom/pseuds/LilacsandFreedom
Summary: Emet-Selch, bored as always, strolls through the dreams of mortals. The dreams of one annoyingly familiar mortal in particular interest him the most.
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Series: Emet/WoL Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921468
Kudos: 10





	A Dream of Warmth in Winter

Sleep was a wonderful way to pass the time. It was his own little slice of sweet, sweet oblivion; not a care in the world, only a warm darkness and long-awaited respite. Oh yes, there were dreams, but for one Emet-Selch, dreams had become a bit of a bore and he seldom looked forward to them. There was nothing there which he hadn’t already seen.

(And there was nothing there now that he _wanted_ to see. His dreams had a tendency to take less pleasant paths in recent years, not that he would admit it to anyone.)

Now, the dreams of _others_ , that was another story entirely. The trick to it was nothing complicated-- only a little bit of aetherial know-how was required-- and he could alleviate his boredom by wandering a bit and peeking through the windows of any sleeping souls. The dreams of the sundered, he’d found, weren’t much different from his own. This single point of similarity was easily brushed off, and he soon found himself bored of this past-time as well. To sleep, perchance to not dream, was a much better alternative when nothing of interest presented itself.

But, he’d had much to be interested in recently, so sleep would have to wait. It would wait _for him_ , that is. For the Warrior of Darkness had returned to take her well-deserved rest in the Pendants, and her dreams in particular were of great interest to him. It was a reach, he had to admit, but he had to wonder if what he’d noticed had been mere coincidence or if perhaps…well, a far-flung hope was still a hope, and he’d preemptively braced himself for disappointment (as he had many, many times before).

Like a ghost, he slipped into the room and found her fast asleep, hair spilling out over her pillow. _Like hers used to_ , he thought, before quickly shooing the idea away. Just a look, he told himself, just a little look and nothing more. Just to see. Just in case. He closed his eyes.

And found himself in the midst of winter.

From what he recalled of the region in recent years, it was _always_ winter in Coerthas. With its cold stone walls and colder reception, Ishgard was the bastion of the season. The Warrior was in Foundation, he recognized, and she was walking through the city with a sense of purpose. He felt somewhat disappointed, but not surprised. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. But, he followed her anyway. Might as well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment.

She continued her march through the city, occasionally nodding or waving toward passers-by who recognized her, and soon approached a manor home. She greeted the guard and was let in alongside his invisible self. It was a fine-enough place, he thought, warm if anything. But, he could feel her fondness radiating off of her like an aura. Ah...but she’d said she had family in Ishgard, hadn’t she? Not by blood, perhaps...he’d heard some tales here and there.

“Lord Edmont?” she called to the empty room. “Artoriel? Emmanilain, Honoroit? I’ve come back. Anyone home?”

A voice then replied to her from a hall beyond. “Lady? Is that you?”

Her things fell to the tile with a clatter. “Heavens help me,” she whispered.

And a figure appeared from the shadows. A tall Elezen man in guard’s armor, hair and eyes the color of skyborne mist. He smiled brightly and extended his arms in welcome. “My friend, it’s good to see you! Whatever are you doing he--”

She threw her arms around him and only just barely avoided knocking him over in the process. “You were dead!” she cried, “You were dead! I was there, I saw it happen. Forgive me, Haurchefant, I did everything I could, everything, and not a thing could help you!”

He returned the embrace and spoke with an air of pleasant confusion. “What are you saying? I’m quite alright, I assure you, never better! Especially now that I am in your presence and with your fine arms around me. It’s a very good position to be in.”

She laughed, her head resting gently upon his chest. Emet-selch felt a small smile tug at his lips. She used to do that...she used to do that with him, just like that. Or maybe he was only imagining things. But, he remembered, oh yes, he well remembered being young and in love and the _relief_ he felt when she came home right before the Sound began in the North…it was enough to keep him in the air for days, and she teased him for not admitting it to anyone, not even to her when they were alone.

The Warrior continued, “But, there are better ones. I think I would like to take up your offer.” she took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Don’t you remember? It’s terribly cold outside, and certainly there’s a warm, comfortable chamber to borrow?”

He kissed her back. Again, and again, and again, and once their hands started wandering, one Emet-Selch believed it was best to let the lovers have their fun _alone_. Oh, to be young and in love again...had Azem truly been the last? Certainly, there were no others like her. But, in the little habits and in the way her hands...no. No others. None at all.

Back in the waking world, he let his nostalgia fall to the side. The twinge of melancholy at the faint smile and gentle sighing in her sleep, however, was harder to shake off. Perhaps he’d grown truly, irreparably sentimental in his old age. Perhaps he himself needed sleep. It seemed like a good way to pass the time.

“Do enjoy yourself, hero,” he said, mostly to himself, “remember how to whistle.”

And in his own dreams (for once), there was the memory of warm hands on cold nights, and of laughter against his chest. No other like her at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Emet/WoL week Day 4, Sleep/Journey! This one's a little shaky on the theme given the emphasis on WoL/Haurch, but Emet's longing for Azem ties it all together, so it works, right? Right?  
> ...right?
> 
> It was fun to write either way. And of course I had to bring the "you know how to whistle, don't you?" line back around, how could I not? I'm honestly a little disappointed in myself that I didn't end up using it more over the course of these prompts...ah well, I'll save the idea for later!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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